


These Bruises (make for better conversation)

by ArmedWithMyComputer



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: De-aged Johnson, because everyone loves a classic deaging fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2785856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmedWithMyComputer/pseuds/ArmedWithMyComputer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late night call from the police station isn't anything unfamiliar to Mike, if anything it's a blast from the past. He knows how to deal with this, has had plenty of practice with his other brother in years gone by - but instead of seeing Axl’s lanky form leaning against the wall like he had been expecting— there’s a teenager with tufty blonde hair that’s frowning at him in confusion. The kid looks haggard and exhausted, but so familiar, and he’s dressed in an oversized suit. </p><p>Mike feels all the air leave his lungs as he stares at the boy, feeling a sick feeling begin to manifest deep in his stomach. Because this just isn’t possible, but yet somehow there’s that grin on the teenager’s face, and there’s no way that it can be anyone but—</p><p>“Anders?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Bruises (make for better conversation)

Mike is woken up by his mobile ringing loudly, the sound jerking him from sleep with a grunt. He fumbles on the bedside table for the unrelenting device, finally flipping it open with his eyes already starting to close. It’s an unknown number, and all Mike can hope is that it’s someone who doesn’t mind being hung up on almost immediately.

“Hello, is this Mr Mike Johnson? This is Officer Mason from the local police station—we have a young man here who’s claiming that he’s your brother. He seems to be quite confused, uninjured though, and he doesn’t have an ID on him so we can’t just release him, on account of him being a minor.”

Mike just groans again, pushing the heel of his hand into his eyes, and grunts some kind of response, “Yes, yes I’ll be right now. Thanks for calling.”

It’s been years since someone’s mistaken Axl for being underage, and Mike’s not quite sure how it’s happened this time. He’ll need to grill Axl more on actually bringing his ID with him more often instead of just relying on his height to prove his age, if only for the sole purpose of eliminating the chance of another of these phone calls.

Michele barely responds as he blearily explains his reasons for stumbling around the apartment getting dressed. She’s asleep again by the time Mike’s grabbed his keys off the table.

The drive is thankfully uneventful and quick, seeing as its three in the morning and the streets are mostly devoid of any other vehicles. Mike runs a hand through his hair and sighs as he pushes open the glass doors of the police station, and smiles gratefully at the officer who shows him through into the holding cells.

And then Mike almost has a heart attack.

Because instead of seeing Axl’s lanky form leaning against the wall like he had been expecting— there’s a teenager with tufty blonde hair that’s frowning at him in confusion. The kid looks haggard and exhausted, but so familiar, and he’s dressed in an oversized suit.

 _No_. Mike feels all the air leave his lungs as he stares at the boy, feeling a sick feeling begin to manifest deep in his stomach. Because this just isn’t possible, but yet somehow there’s that grin on the teenager’s face, and there’s no way that it can be anyone but—

“Anders?”

His brother cocks his head slightly, chin raised in some form of surprise, but all he says is, “Mike. You’ve _aged_ since I last saw you—all that playing mums and dads with Val has really done a number on you.” Then Anders, because somehow it really is him, winks at the female officer and raises his eyebrows slightly.

It takes another ten minutes to get out of the station, with Anders trailing behind him, shoes scuffing the pavement, and Mike’s ears ringing from the stern warning that he’d gotten from the officers for letting his brother “out at such a late hour, and clearly under the influence of something.”

Anders only speaks again when they’re in the car, the teenager slouching comfortably in the passage seat, “But seriously Mike, what’s up? You look _awful_.”

“I—Anders, what happened to you?”

His brother only shakes his head back at him, all shit-eating grin and a spark in his eyes that Mike hasn’t seen in years, “I asked you first, you old bastard. I just woke up in some strange apartment, dressed like a total dick, and got the hell out. Must’ve been some party, right? Coppers picked me up, and insisted that I wasn’t going anywhere until someone collected me from the station.” At the sight of Mike’s incredulous expression, Anders deflates a little, and bites his lip, “Look, I don’t know how I got there, Mike, I honestly don’t. Can we just go home now?”

But they can’t go home, because Anders has seemingly de-aged about a decade and a half unknowingly, and he’s looking at Mike with a face that hasn’t yet been tarnished by all this god shit.

“We have to call a thing. Now.” Mike manages to get out, though his voice sounds strained and like he’s been strangled.

Anders looks at him with a frown, and it’s so clear that his brother knows that something is wrong—because, hell, Mike looks plenty different than he had in his twenties. But he doesn’t say anything, just props his feet up on the dashboard, his expensive Italian leather shoes now dirty and half hidden by too long trouser legs.

Mike stares again for a minute, before shoving Ander’s feet down and starting the car. He takes a deep breath in, noticing how the teenager’s eyes are already slipping closed with exhaustion, and pulls out of the car-park. He has no idea where to go, or what to do.

.

They end up back at the bar, and Anders flinches away when Mike shakes his shoulder to wake him.

He deflects all of Ander’s confused questions and tells him to stay put on one of the stools, while he thuds upstairs to wake Michele. She understandably doesn’t believe him, rolling over to drift back to sleep, but something in Mike’s tone seems to pique her interest.

When they both head back down to the bar, Michele in a dressing gown and Mike hoping that it was all just a dream, teenage Anders is rummaging around behind the counter. He looks up guiltily with a bottle of beer in one hand, hearing the footsteps, but his face changes when Michele comes into view.

“What the fuck, Mike? Where’s Val? I thought—I mean, I don’t even _like_ her, but you can’t just—this is so fucked up, what is this, your little escape pad? Why did you even bring me here, I really didn’t want to know about this… thing you have going on. Christ, Mike, and I suppose you don’t want me to tell Valerie? While she’s at home looking after Ty and Axl?”

Then Mike remembers that ‘home,’ to Anders had meant their childhood one that Val had moved into only a few months before Anders had turned seventeen, and the gravity of the situation hits him again. Michele has frozen, her mouth open slightly, and it’s the first time that Mike has seen her properly speechless.

Anders throws his hands up in the air at the silence that follows his outburst, and slams the beer down on the bar, “That’s it, I’ve had enough of this fucking night. No need to drive me home, Mike, I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” He starts to storm past then, shouldering Mike roughly, and mutters, “Should’ve called Olaf.”

He grabs hold of his brother’s skinny arm, pulling him back gently, brain searching for any words that could possible explain this.

“No—Anders, wait, I can explain. I _swear_ I’m not cheating on Val, I swear. Something’s happened, and we need to have a family talk about it, okay? Why don’t you get into the shower upstairs and into some proper clothes, and I’ll call the others. _Anders_.”

To his surprise, because the Anders that he remembers is far too stubborn and defiant, his brother relaxes marginally, and scowls. “Fine. But you owe me a serious explanation, and I want that beer when I come down.”

Michele, who still hasn’t said anything, stands to the side while Mike follows Anders upstairs— and the teenager stomps extra loud on the way up. Anders swears at him once more, as Mike piles some old clothes into his arms, before he disappears into the bathroom, leaving Mike standing there stunned.

This can’t be happening.

But Michele has regained her composure by this point, as she slips some clothes on, and just _looks_ at Mike. He takes a few breaths, feeling shaky all of a sudden, and takes his phone out of his pocket with numb fingers, dialling the first number.

.

Anders thunders back downstairs before any of the others arrive, and he looks even younger with damp hair and Mike’s oversized clothes.

He pulls down the t-shirt to cover how Mike’s belt is as tight as he could get it, to hold up worn jeans. Anders grabs the beer off the counter, and sits down heavily on the sofa, dark circles of tiredness under his eyes. One sip of the beer later, and he’s put it down, arms wrapped around his skinny frame.

“Who are you even waiting for?” He asks, sarcasm evident in his tone, “You going to get Olaf to collect Ty and little Axl, so you can explain this little arrangement that you have going on to them, huh?” Anders rolls his eyes, and glares at Michele.

Then he crosses his arms tightly, and that’s the moment that Olaf barges into the bar with Ty and Axl.

“What’s going on—”

“Something wrong with Anders—”

“Mike, where is he—”

They all shout and yell at the same time, and Anders jumps up from the couch with a wary look on his young face. The three men stutter to a halt, and Mike carefully steps into their line of vision, expression warning them not to freak out, and voice neutral, “There’s been an unexpected development, and we need to have a family meeting.”

Anders takes a step forward, looking lost and pissed off at the same time, “Olaf? I thought you were off surfing for the next few months, and—and who the hell are these other guys?”

Axl’s face takes on that perpetually confused expression that he’s had in waiting ever since all this god stuff started; and Ty manages to look offended. Neither of them speak though, just stuck staring at the short teenager glaring up at them, and Olaf is the one who eventually stumbles forward a few steps.

He opens his arms wide, perhaps sensing the slightly hysterical tone to Anders’ voice, and the kid barrels into him, “Anders… Yeah, I, uh, came home from surfing a little earlier than expected.” Mike remembers then the way Olaf would always give them huge hugs after returning after weeks of absence, and he feels some emotions catch his breath, “What—what happened to you.”

Anders still has his face pressed into Olaf’s shoulder, standing on the tips of his toes to get the most out of the hug, but he pulls away eventually, glancing at Mike warily, “I think there was some kind of party or something, I woke up in this random apartment—didn’t know where I was. On the rich side of town— nowhere that we’d ever go. Mike picked me up from the station; cops didn’t buy my story that I was eighteen.”

“Wait, you’re not eighteen yet?” Axl blurts out, still trying to process everything.

His older brother bites the inside of his cheek, and Mike can see how uncomfortable the teenager is with everything, “I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you? Mike, I thought you meant that Olaf was bringing Ty and Axl, but I don’t even know these people.”

Ty seems to go even paler than usual, which is quite a feat, and sits down heavily on one of the bar stools, face tight and strained. He looks physically pained, and Mike wants to clap a hand onto his shoulder or do something equally as comforting—but Anders looks like he doesn’t trust him, and Mike doesn’t know how to handle the situation.

Then Axl opens his mouth again, and everything goes to hell.

“I’m your brother, Anders; we’re both your _brothers_.”

Anders goes an interesting shade of red, and explodes into a rage. He steps back away from Mike, away from Olaf even, pointing an accusing finger at Axl, “You’re not my brother! I don’t even know you, I don’t know you—and, Mike, what the fuck? What is happening with everyone? You’re cheating on Val, these two strangers show up out of nowhere, and claim to be my brothers! I don’t care how many men mum slept around with before us, but that does _not_ make you family. You both stay the hell away from me and my younger brothers—don’t ever try to contact them. Is that the whole point of tonight? Some twisted ‘family’ reunion? Fuck—get away, get out of here! Get _out… Mike_ , _do something_!”

The teenager has both hands hovering up around his face, and Mike suddenly remembers how he used to press his palms against his ears when the fighting got too loud. He opens his mouth, to try and fix things, but he’s too late.

Anders bolts.

He darts around Mike and Olaf, stepping nimbly to the side as Ty stands up suddenly, and crashes into the door that opens out onto the street. Anders is gone within seconds, and the three brothers are left staring after him, with their grandfather just as stunned.

“Olaf, you need to go after him,” Michele is speaking then, and they all numbly listen, “You’re the one he trusts most right now. Take him somewhere, let him sleep. He’s exhausted. Ty and Axl, you stay here—he didn’t know you, couldn’t handle seeing you, and you both fucked it up even more. Mike, we’ll go to his place—this whole thing probably has something to do with Yggdrasil, and knowing Anders he’s most likely been messing around with it.”

They all nod slowly, and Olaf begins to head out the door, before he hesitates, “I don’t really have a permanent abode that is suitable for children at the present…”

“Take him to mine,” Axl tosses his keys without hesitation, looking sick, “I’ll call Zeb now, tell him to get out.”

Olaf’s gone then, jogging out the door without another word, and Mike just puts his head in his hands. “What’s going on, Mike?” Ty says finally, eyes darting towards the half-open door, looking conflicted, “Is that kid really our Anders?

He just nods, not commenting on the way Axl’s hands are shaking as he talks urgently on the phone.

“We have to fix this.”

.

Anders doesn’t make it far before the pain in his head becomes too much.

He ducks into an alley, groaning as he sinks to the cold ground, hands pressed firmly over his ears. This night has just been too much, too fast, and he’s not even sure what’s happened. Mike was acting all strange and not like the usual brother who spent half his time at the hospital with Rob and Val, and the rest of it nagging Anders.

And then there’d been those two men, both taller than him, and _staring_.

He hears footsteps coming closer, but doesn’t look up, or take his hands away. _God_ , why is he such a mess?

“Anders? Can we talk?” It’s Olaf, because Anders would know that voice anywhere, and he’s using the same tone that he does when he walks in on Anders’ parents fighting. When he finally looks up, Olaf is sitting cross-legged opposite him, a safe distance away.

“I don’t want to talk.”

Olaf gets to his feet, offers down a hand to Anders, and simply says, “Alright then.” He takes it, hating the way his knees are weak as he’s pressed tightly to his cousin’s side on their way to the beat-up car that Anders would recognise anywhere.

His cousin drives them to a house Ander’s never seen before, and there’s a guy bustling out the door with a bag full of clothes as Olaf unlocks the front door. The stranger looks curiously at Anders, and he stares defiantly back through half-lidded eyes, because he’s tired of everyone staring at him.

Then there’s a bed, and Olaf is pushing him down onto it, taking off his shoes and turning off the light. Anders grunts with exhaustion, and finally lets himself relax long enough to drift off to sleep. Anders just hopes that Ty and Axl won’t be too upset to wake up in a few hours to find him missing. He’s sure Val will be able to handle it though, much as he doesn’t like her.

He can figure things out in the morning.

.

Mike’s back in the bar, with the long stick that is Yggdrasil, and Ty is trying to explain things once again to Axl.

“Both of you, stop it – let’s just focus on getting things back to normal. Did Anders say anything unusual to you last time either of you spoke to him? Was he planning on doing anything with this stick, like trying out a ritual or something?”

Axl shakes his head despondently, staring into his beer, “He didn’t recognise us, Mike, he didn’t even want to be around us.”

Ty rolls his eyes, and takes the beer out of his younger brother’s hands, “That’s because, far as I can tell, teenager Anders still thinks you’re little more than a toddler and I’m a thirteen year old. We’ve been over this, Axl, he didn’t actually mean it. Anders is—not himself at the moment. But we’ll get him back… won’t we, Mike?”

Mike nods without saying anything, because Yggdrasil just looks like a stick to him, and they don’t even know what Anders was doing with the thing in the first place. Then his youngest brother groaned loudly, pressing his face into the bar, and sighed heavily.

“This is too weird.”

Ty and Mike exchange glances, and then Ty moves to pat Axl roughly on the back, “Weirder than the time you turned into a girl, literally? C’mon, Axl, buck out of it—we’ll figure something out.” Mike nods encouragingly, even though Axl can’t see, and hopes that they’ll be able to figure out this magic stick of life sooner rather than later.

His phone rings then, the caller ID telling him that it’s Olaf, and Mike scrambles to answer the phone quickly, “Olaf? What’s going on—has anything new happened?”

 _“Not unless you count Anders passing out on Axl’s bed as something new. Kid’s shattered, Mike, exhausted beyond the limit. De-aging must really take it out of a person_.”

“Yeah, well, what do you think our next move should be? He’s probably not up for returning to the bar, not after that shitstorm last night,” Olaf’s snort on the other end of the line verifies the massive understatement that he’s just made, “Where’s his head at, Olaf?”

There’s silence for a few moments, which Mike uses to put his phone on speaker, as per the wild gestures of his brothers, before Olaf says, “ _He’s not ready to face the others, not yet. They’re strangers, threatening in a way—you know how Anders used to be_.” Axl raises his eyebrows, but Mike ignores him for the moment, “ _Anders is skittish and flighty right now, and he’s going to want some answers pretty soon when he wakes up. Wanted me to take him to see his brothers last night_.”

Mike groans, and kneads his forehead with his hands, “Yeah, I know how he could be. But it’s not like we can just tell him that he used to be a bloody god!”

“ _I know. But we’re going to have to figure something out. I can’t stall him forever, Mike_.” Olaf’s voice is serious, relaying the gravity of the situation, and Ty is looking gloomier by the second. Mike really doesn’t want to have to deal with this.

“Okay, Olaf, we’ll call Ingrid or something. Try and find a balance to what we can tell him. Let us know when he wakes up.”

He hangs up then, taking a moment to breathe deeply and close his eyes, before turning to face the others. Axl takes another long swig of beer, glancing down at his phone, “Zeb wants to know when he can go back to the house—and when he’s going to get introduced to ‘baby Anders.’ Axl sounds resigned, and completely defeated.

“Zeb might be a good person to introduce to him, actually,” Ty speaks up then, tendrils of ice snaking out around his beer, “Non-threatening, more on Anders level in terms of maturity… It might work?”

Mike nods slowly, weighing the pros and cons of exposing Anders to Axl’s eccentric roommate at such a sensitive time, “Worth a shot. Not like he’ll talk to any of us at the moment. We can say that he’s Olaf’s roommate, and get him to try and coax some details out of Anders—his age, memories, that sort of thing. Yeah, we’ll try that. Axl, call Zeb and have him come here—I’ll let Olaf know.”

.

Anders shuffles out of the strange bedroom, hair flopping into his eyes.

He moves cautiously, keeping his back to the wall and clutching the too big shoes from the previous night in his hand in case he needs to get away quickly. There are voices coming from what could possibly be the kitchen area, so he makes his way quietly in there, eyes narrowed and sceptical.

All he finds is his cousin, stretched out on the sofa while some stranger fries bacon casually. Anders stands in the doorway silently, debating whether to leave or make his presence known. He doesn’t get the chance to fully make his decision, before a voice booms out.

“Anders! Come in, and meet my, uh, roommate—Zeb.”

Olaf is smiling awkwardly, and even despite all the commotion of the previous night, Anders manages to tentatively smile back at him. He sits down next to his cousin, feet tucked up underneath him. When Olaf’s big hand claps down on his shoulder, in what’s supposed to be a friendly gesture, he flinches.

They pretend not to notice though, and a few minutes later, the roommate is handing him a plate of bacon and eggs, grinning eagerly.

He starts eating, quick precise bites like he always has, and is genuinely surprised at how hungry he is. Ravenous, really, and Anders finds himself feeling grateful when Zeb cheerfully hands him a second serving, along with a glass of milk.

“Thanks,” he mutters quietly, not sure about the way Zeb’s lips quirk when he accepts the milk, but the guy seems genuine enough.

Olaf certainly seems to trust him, and heads off to take a shower after only ten minutes of them sitting around a battered coffee table. The shower turns on then, and Anders strains to hear the sound of a door slamming or a window opening through the sounds, to make sure that his cousin doesn’t just up and ditch him.

He’s distracted though from his task by Zeb yawning loudly, and Anders blinks rapidly to focus his attention on the stranger—who’s scratching at his hair nonchalantly, “So what age are you, Anders?”

“Nineteen,” his air of projected confidence is spot on, but Zeb just laughs and doesn’t seem to buy it, “Sixteen,” Anders admits sullenly then, not enough energy left to conjure up one of his usual stories about how he just ages well, and that he’s really a lot older than he looks.

“Sounds about right,” Zeb’s tone is so bright that it makes Anders nervous and reassured at the same time, “And what exactly are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking, crashing with me and Olaf?”

Anders shrugs, eyes scanning the space around him and taking in the simple design and artwork, “Got picked up by the cops last night. My brother took me back to this bar, full of strangers, and then Olaf took me here. I didn’t even know he was in the area until last night, even though it seems like he’s been living here for a while,” his tone gets distrustful then, and Anders isn’t really sure why he’s telling all of this to some guy who just made him breakfast… though maybe it’s _because_ he made him breakfast.

“What about normally—where do you live?” Zeb’s questions seem oddly specific, but he’s asking them in such a laid-back manner, that Anders can’t quite summon up the effort to be abrasive and suave like usual. Zeb moves onto trying to balance beer caps on one finger, from where they’re scattered around the couch.

“With my brothers. Mike’s not around much, even though we’ve just moved in with his girlfriend, Valerie. Val’s swell,” the sarcasm was implied, “but I mostly take care of Ty and Axl—even since our mother—” Anders cut himself off a scowl.

Zeb didn’t react, just twitched his face slightly, and shifted in his seat, “Well, I live here. With A—Olaf, my roommate. And this other girl called Gaia, but she had to go visit her father on the island for a week. But she’s normally here. She’s a nurse, actually, and showed me how to make those scrambled eggs. Pretty good, right?”

“They were okay, yeah.”

“She makes them better than me anyway—just don’t tell her that. Anyway, so we started renting this place out a few years ago, and it’s pretty good. Landlord doesn’t mind how many parties we have, long as we don’t trash the place every time. There used to be a trampoline outside, but we had to get rid of it after a while, neighbours complained because it was out on the front lawn, and Ax—another guy who used to live here broke some of the springs so it didn’t really work anymore—couldn’t get a good bounce.”

Anders sat quietly against the worn sofa, and let Zeb ramble on. It was… comforting, and gave him time to get his head in order.

So when Olaf came meandering back into the room some time later, Anders stood, “I want to go back home, Olaf, back to my brothers. This has been a weird enough weekend. I have school to ditch tomorrow, Axls to torment.”

That’s when his cousin’s face twists slightly, and sends a warning signal into Anders’ head, seeing Olaf struggle for words, “I was thinking we could go catch some waves, hang out with Zeb some more. You got somewhere to be?”

“I actually have a date later, yeah,” Anders admits, because Sandy Jacobs had asked him to go on a beach walk, and Anders knows what that’s a metaphor for: making out in the sand dunes, “So I need to get back for that—and Ty wanted me to help him with some school project or something.

Zeb and Olaf are looking positively pale at this point, and Anders takes an instinctive step away from them both, “Eh, just let me give Mike a call, and we’ll figure something out.” His cousin takes out this ultra-modern looking cellular phone, and Anders just ogles at it.

Olaf must have made big money to be able to afford a gadget like that.

“Mike? Mike isn’t the boss of me, I don’t need his damn permission to live my life—and you wouldn’t either if you ever actually hung around enough for it to sink in.” When Olaf still didn’t reply, Anders cursed loudly, letting a stream of distasteful words flow out of his mouth, and liking the shock on Zeb’s face just a bit.

“Let’s just take it easy, Anders—Anders—”

But he’s had enough of this shit, all the stalling and avoiding of his questions, so Anders does the only thing that he could come up with. He weighs the shoes in his hand for a second, before reaching back and flinging them at his cousin and the stranger.

They reel back with surprise at the flying projectiles, and then Anders was darting out the back door, socked feet pounding on the pavement as he rounded the corner to the front of the house and _sprinted_ down the street. The clothes that Mike had given him are baggy and unfamiliar, but he ignores the discomfort and doesn’t look back.

He’s going home.

.

“ _Mike… I lost him_.”

He stares at his phone for a moment, anger and worry surging through him simultaneous, before lifting it back to his ear just in time to hear all of Olaf’s apology, “What do you _mean_ you ‘lost him’—he’s a sixteen year old kid, Grandpa.”

Axl is going pale by the second, gesturing over at Ty to show him a text message that Mike just knows holds all the information, “ _Well, we were stalling, like we agreed. But he got flighty, and just… bolted. I’ve been driving around for the past ten minutes, but the kid’s a damn good hider_.”

“He doesn’t want to be found.”

Because, damnit, Mike has already played this game with Anders. He spent years running around after his kid brother, dragging him out of parties, and cleaning up after his messes. He knows that Anders is good, too good, at going to ground when he wants to.

Mike hangs up on Olaf, too tired and preoccupied. He knows that he won’t mind. Everyone’s priority is Anders right now.

“I know where’s he’s gone,” Ty says suddenly, face pained looking after a few moments of brainstorming together, “Jesus, how didn’t we think of it before—he’s gone home. He’s headed back to Norsewood, where our old house was. That’s where he is.”

And then they all feel like idiots, having spent the last five minutes trying to come up with a list of Anders’ favourite day-time bars, places he’d have gone if he’d been an adult. But Anders is a kid again, Mike thinks as he runs a hand through his hair, he’s just a kid.

“Someone call Olaf and Zeb, let them know that’s where he’s heading. I’ll drive separately to you two—but stay close. If he gets there before us, sees another someone else living there, he’s going to…  It’ll be bad.”

.

Anders stares at the house in front of him.

He’s tucked behind a tree, a large oak that feels like it could wrap around him in some pretence of a motherly hug. He wonders why he finds that thought to be cynical and bitter, but his mind soon drifts away. Everything is wrong, and disjointed, and he doesn’t know what to do now. He sways on his feet, leaning back into the warm bark of the tree, and bites his lip, hard.

There’s another family in his house.

They’ve been there a while as well, from the look of the pictures on the wall, toys scattered on the lawn. There are kids running around in the living room, the room that he does his homework in while watching Axl toddle around and Ty playing with trucks on the ground. It’s definitely his house, because he knows the dents in the walls off by heart, the crack in the step on the front porch.

This is his house, but somehow it’s not.

Another stab of pain ripples through his head, and he gasps lightly. It’s been getting worse since this morning, the twinges of pain that reverberate through his mind. Anders thinks that he might need a doctor, but he also needs his house back—and Ty and Axl, and even Mike, to be there.

Nothing makes sense, not the blur from the previous night or the house’s new occupants. He wants to march inside, tear the pictures off the walls and _scream_ —demand answers for where his family is, because this is his life, and it’s spiralled downwards so fast that Anders doesn’t know if he can keep up.

He wants to storm inside, but he doesn’t think that his legs will hold him up.

“Anders,” A voice says from beside him, a voice that he knows so well but not at all somehow, and he looks up shakily to see his brother walking slowly towards him, “Anders, I…”

He leans heavily into the tree, eyes fixed on the other family, and whispers, “What’s happening to me, Mike?” Anders’ voice sounds broken and weak, but that’s how he feels right now. No defences, or tricks, or smiles to cover up his fear.

“It’s a long story, but it’ll be okay, Anders, I swear—I’ll make it okay. Anders?”

Anders moans as he experiences another sharp reminder of pain. Mike grabs gently onto his arm then, sounding concerned and far away, and Anders just lets himself fall against his brother, “What’s happening?” He whimpers again, a tear slipping down his cheek and soaking into the rough fabric of Mike’s t shirt, “Mike, what’s happening.”

There’s a note of concern in his brother’s voice when he answers, but it’s faint—like he’s trying to hide it, “I don’t know, but I’m going to fix it, Anders, I’m going to fix it, okay? Anders, can you hear me?”

He tries to nod, but his head just droops against Mike, and it doesn’t have the reassuring effect that Anders had been going for. He tries so hard to care, tries to stand up by himself, but nothing is working the way it’s supposed to.

Another pair of hands supports him suddenly from the other side, and the grip is cautious and _cold_. He lets the stranger hold him upright with his brother, but somewhere in the back of mind, Anders knows that it’s not a stranger. He groans, and a name slips out from between his lips, seeming both right and wrong at the same time.

“Ty.”

.

He’s literally holding Anders up by one of his arms, and Ty’s heart just hurts.

He doesn’t think that he can properly process the fact that Anders had just groaned out his name, can’t waste time to be confused, so he forces it down for later.

His brother, in teenager form, is almost limp in their grips, and Ty helps Mike guide Anders over to the car as quickly as possible. They can’t really afford to cause a scene, but equally want to ensure that Anders is okay. Axl’s face is basically pressed to the window of his car for a few split seconds, horrified, and he stumbles out onto the pavement to help.

Ty slides into the backseat first, and then the others help to awkwardly get Anders into the car, his older brother slumping against him and shaking slightly. He wraps an arm around him, not caring that Anders might not know who he is anymore, because he’s never seen his brother this broken before.

Anders is vulnerable.

He’s groaning beside Ty, letting a stranger arrange his limbs in some semblance of comfort, and this is just all so wrong.

Ty stares at Ander’s socked feet, filthy with dirt and red flecks that look like blood, and thinks that he might just throw up. Axl’s scrambled into the passenger seat as Mike starts up the car, and his young brother twists around in his seat to cast worried eyes over Anders.

“He’s going to be fine, Axl—you’re going to be okay, Anders. Anders? We’re going to get you help, don’t worry.”

Mike chooses that moment to speed over a pothole, and his three younger brothers all whimper simultaneously – Ty and Axl making the sound when seeing the pained look on Anders’ face. Their older, yet somehow younger, brother is still slurring out syllables into Ty’s shirt, indecipherable words that sound tangled and mashed together. His hands are pawing weakly at his own chest, at the baggy shirt that Ty knows belongs to Mike.

“Hurry up,” Axl says urgently to Mike, his eyes never leaving Anders crumpled form, “Wherever we’re going, hurry the fuck up, Mike.”

Without a word, the car speeds up that bit more, and Ty glances up for a moment to see the slightly richer neighbourhood that Anders currently lives in flash by. He assumes that his brother has some sort of a plan, so he settles for just placing his cold hand carefully on Ander’s burning forehead.

“Just hold on, Anders,” Mike grits out between his teeth, and Ty can just picture his worried expression—one that he’d seen countless times when Anders had been gone for a day or two at a time, usually without an explanation, but he always came back. His brother always came back for him.

.

They pull up sharply in the underground car-park of Anders’ building, Axl knows the security codes and Ty has the spare key on his keychain. Mike goes ahead of them, phone out of his pocket and speaking urgently on it. Axl hovers anxiously, holding the door open, and looking like he’s about to cry.

Ty doesn’t waste any time, just awkwardly gets his arms around Anders and lifts him like a rag doll, one arm under his knees and the other around his back. It looks pathetic, his short little teenaged brother, but he just bites his lip, and specifically doesn’t think about how light his brother is.

Anders’ head lolls against his shoulder weakly as Ty takes slow but careful steps, trying not to jolt him too much. His other brother alternates between sticking close to his side, and sprinting ahead to open doors. They take the elevator, Axl making sure that it’s clear before they get in—because there’s no way that Ty is in the right mind frame to explain this to anyone.

Mike is waiting by the door by the time they make it down the hallway, and he looks so much older all of a sudden—it’s almost humorous.

He just grunts though, and gently readjusts Anders in his arms again, pushing past Mike not unkindly. Yggdrasil is there, leaning against the fish tank, and Ty doesn’t even think that he can bear to look at it—not when he’s seen what it’s done to his brother.

 Anders groans again when he lays him down on the bed, one hand almost clutching onto Ty’s shirt, but then he doesn’t.

Ty forces himself to walk out of the room, and looks down to see his hands quivering in fists, “Fix him,” he growls at Michele walking past him, body braced against the wall. “Find out what’s wrong and fix my brother.”

Olaf and Ingrid follow Michele quickly into the room, though his grandpa does pause for a moment to lay a hand on his shoulder. Axl leans against the wall beside him, staring into the fish tank with a frown on his face. He feels helpless and like he’s fit to burst with frustration, but none of that will actually help his brother.

So Ty shakes his head slightly, just enough to shake some of the cobwebs away from his mind, and heads back into the room.

.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed when Ty comes stalking back in again, looking like the incarnation of Höðr more than ever before. Anders writhes around a little bit more on the bed under the gentle but firm hands of Michele as she shines a penlight into his eyes, and Ty just stiffens even more.

Mike nods his head to indicate Ty to sit beside him, while he holds one of Anders’ hands.

“He’s not very lucid anymore, but other than that, we have no idea what’s wrong with him,” He says quietly, and Anders lets his head twist towards the side, towards Mike, and he just looks so mournful through hazy, unfocused eyes.

“What’s happening?” He murmurs, and Ty shrinks back slightly, as if thinking that his presence will agitate Anders—but instead the teenager just stares at Ty, “Why do I remember you? The—there’s memories in my head, and—and, I don’t…”

Olaf moves slowly into Ander’s vision, looking peaceful calm and relaxed—even though Mike knows he’s not. That’s the face his grandpa had on when Mike had been fourteen and broken his wrist by falling down the stairs. That’s the false I-can-fix-everything face.

“Tell me more about these memories, Anders.”

There’s a few fractured seconds of consciousness, during which Mike fears that Anders will slip back into the tortured trance he’d been in, but his young brother manages to hold onto himself. He stares again, deeper, at Ty who looks pained.

“They’re not mine—I’m not—family and cold—trees and drinking apples. This—these aren’t _mine_ , but…  I’m there and Dawn, and being alone. Headaches and shouting—but, it hurts so much, Mike, these aren’t mine, these aren’t mine.” Everyone’s staring horrified at Anders, with varying levels of containment of their emotions. Ty looks like someone’s stabbed him in the stomach, his posture growing more defeated, but then Anders reached out for his hand, “Who are you? These—I don’t know how to make it stop hurting, they aren’t mine.”

Ingrid speaks when the silence has begun to grow, no one moving a muscle, “Do you have any memories about this stick, Anders, Yggdrasil? Do you remember what you were doing with the stick—do you have any of those memories?”

But Anders just switches his focus to Mike again, and he feels the weight of a sixteen year old falling apart resting on his shoulders, “Come home, Mike. We—you have to start coming home more, because I—Ty and Axl need you—I can’t do it on my own, Mike, come home—come back…”

“Yggdrasil, Anders, tell me about the stick.”

His brother’s eyes begin to droop, lashes fluttering against pale cheeks, and Michele carefully picks up one of his skinny wrists to monitor his pulse. Mike knows that he should offer some encouragement, try and get some answers out of Anders so they can fix the situation—but his throat is clogged with emotion, and he doesn’t think that he can string together anything coherent at the moment.

“Anders. C’mon, Anders, help us out here.”

But only a second later, Anders eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s truly unconscious. There are dark circles under his eyes, shadows under his cheekbones that make him look gaunt thin, and Mike runs his hand gently through his brother’s fluffy hair.

 Michele leans across to rub at Anders’ sternum, when he stops responding completely to their verbal calling of his name, and looks satisfied when he winces unconsciously.

“He seems stable for right now, but we’ll have to watch him carefully until he starts responding again.” She brushes his shoulder against his, and Mike tries to smile gratefully at her, but it comes out as more of a grimace. He nudges Ty as well, seeing his younger brother still frozen and staring at Anders.

Things don’t change for hours after that.

.

The sound of a sharp knock against the door of Anders’ apartment jolts them all out of the lull that they’ve fallen into. Anders is still out cold on the bed, and Ty had retreated to the living room, unable to take any more of the silence for the time being.

 They all jump to their feet at the prospect of a stranger at the door, wary and unsure of what to do.

“Maybe they’ll just go away,” Axl hisses quietly from his position behind the couch, and it’s almost comical how his youngest brother looks hunched over in a bid to be inconspicuous. Ty just looks over to Mike, who is motionless with a drink in his hand—and then the knocking persists again.

He looks around, sees no one capable of making a decision, and strides over to the door himself, “Get the others into the bedroom,” Ty says quietly, one hand posed to open the door, and waits until the others have slipped out of sight. Mike steps up behind him, and Axl tries to lean casually against the wall.

Ty pulls open the door to reveal an elderly woman standing expectantly in the hallway. She smiles gently at him, and that’s when they know that she’s got the wrong door.

“Eh, can I help you, ma’am?” He tries to be as polite as possible, but the whole situation is surreal in a way, “I think you might have the wrong apartment…”

She peers in around him, taking into account his brothers on either side, and simply chuckles, “Oh no, dear, I’m Anders’ neighbour—is he home at the moment?” Ty shakes his head slowly, confused by the turn of events, and the woman just smiles again, “He does work so hard… Anyway, I just popped around to drop in the weekly crossword for Anders, no matter I’ll just leave it with you to pass onto him. You three must be his brothers, am I right?”

Mike nods jerkily.

Ty takes the carefully cut out crossword section of a newspaper from the elderly lady, and Mike thanks her awkwardly on Anders’ behalf. He can just picture Axl standing with his mouth half open behind them, his usual expression when things happen out of the blue.

The woman gives them all one more look-over, and then turns to head back to her own apartment. Ty almost wants to invite her in for tea, because it had seemed as those she’d been expecting it – is this what Anders does in his spare time, he wonders, entertains pensioners and exchanges crosswords?

He leaves the crossword in the middle of the kitchen counter after closing the door, and sees Axl peering over at it.

“Who knew Anders was a crossword nerd, right?” Axl finally says tiredly, a note of amusement still present in his tone. Ty just smiles weakly back at him, and tries to look away from the scrap of newspaper on the counter, but finds that he can’t—drawn in by new aspects of his brother that he’d never seen before.

Mike sighs loudly, rubbing a hand over his face, “I did,” He says slowly, “He used to do the Sunday one in the paper every week, when our mother would buy it—hunched over at the table with a pencil and rubber. Taught himself to be bloody good at them, too.”

There’s more silence then, and Ty forces his eyes away from the kitchen space, stares over at the bedroom door slightly ajar instead.

He doesn’t know how to feel anymore.

.

Anders wakes up again later, when the sky is dark outside the window, and the mood is tense between them all.

It’s a different version of him again though, and Ty doesn’t know what to make of it all. This Anders seems to be only able to sit hunched against the headboard of the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, and shake silently.

He seems to have a minimal grasp of their identities, but refuses to say a word. Ingrid makes him whimper when she reaches for him, but he allows Ty to place a hesitant hand on his shoulder in some semblance of comfort. Axl moves closer then too, hopeful and manages to sit on the edge of the bed beside Ty and smile gently at Anders.

Anders doesn’t smile back, but his lips do twitch in some sort of comprehension—and Ty is about ready to take that as a win.

Eventually, Mike moves forward to sit on the other side of this new Anders, and gets a blank stare in response from his younger brother. They stay like that for longer than Ty would have let himself hope for earlier, and he doesn’t even notice when the others back carefully out of the room.

Finally, Mike speaks up, “Do you… know who we are, Anders?”

All three of the brothers hold their breath for a few agonising moments, while the teenaged Anders considers the question with a frown. Ty can see Axl shaking from the corner of his peripheral vision, and even he allows himself to hope desperately.

“No,” The reply comes back, and Ty’s shoulders slump despite his best efforts, “But I feel safe with you.”

Axl nods encouragingly then, the first of them to recover from the blow, and reaches out to hold Ander’s thin hand carefully, “You’ll always be safe with us,” and none of them comment on the slight crack in his voice at the end of the sentence. Then Axl goes for it, in a way that Ty knows deep down that one of them has to, “We’re your brothers.”

Anders seems to think on the concept for a minute, and then says softly, “I don’t think I have any brothers.”

It’s not the response that any of them want, but Ty can see Mike internally steeling himself, and he does the same. Reinforces himself from the inside out, and tries to pretend that he’s not as affected by the words as he really is – not wanting his brothers to see how much those seven words had torn him apart.

“That’s okay, Anders,” Mike says then, and it seems to help Anders to relax even the slightest bit, “Do you want us to tell you our names?”

Then his older but younger brother scrunches his face up in confusion, and says something that Ty could have never predicted, “But I know your names. Odin, Höðr , and Ullr.”

The names echo around in Ty’s head, and he feels his body rising from its position beside Anders, and his feet bring him stumbling out of the room. _Odin, Höðr , and Ullr_. He staggers past the concerned faces of Olaf, Michelle, and Ingrid—and doesn’t stop until he reaches the bathroom, drops to his knees, and throws up violently at the disgust of it all. _I don’t think I have any brothers._

_Odin, Höðr , and Ullr._

**Author's Note:**

> So this was in my head for ages. First thing I’ve written for The Almighty Johnsons, and I hope I did okay. Would love some feedback or comments on this while I get started on the second part. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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